


Apple Tarts

by Tandy



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandy/pseuds/Tandy
Summary: “Are you leaving Squirrel?” She asked, though the question was moot, she wanted him to admit it. Betrayal was burning strong in her chest.“He’s safe enough.”“That wasn’t the question, Monk.”He turned his head to fiddle with Goliath’s saddle. “Considering I do not have your trust, what does it matter whether I leave or not?”
Relationships: Nimue/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 347





	Apple Tarts

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Unbeta'd, read at your own risk.

Summer

Nimue woke with a start, disoriented from the dream that had already escaped her. She sighed, rubbing her face, trying to clear the cobwebs of her mind. It was still dark, but twilight was starting to filter through her tent. She stepped outside, trying to dispel the unease she felt. It did nothing to stop the feeling that something was amiss. There were whispers all around her, telling her something she did not understand.

She scanned the campground, noting that it was too early for even the most hardworking souls to be up, the light barely lighting the woods. Just a bad dream, Nimue told herself, when she could detect nothing wrong. Not every dream had to mean something, especially one she couldn’t even remember it. And the whispers? It wouldn't be the first time they’ve spoken to her for no apparent reason.

A slight movement on the very edge of the woods caught her eye and her heart dropped to her stomach. It could be no other than the Monk with all that black wardrobe. She moved without thinking, following the movement on instinct, anger boiling deep inside as her feet flew to reach him.

He was walking his horse, about to mount when she burst through the forest. As always, he showed minimal emotion. His hair was in a messy bun, wayward curls framing his tragic face. His eyes steady on her as she caught her breath. The horse was loaded for a long journey, she noticed, and she turned her accusing eyes back to his. Why would he leave now? He had proven himself against his former brothers, had helped save Squirrel, had protected their camp many times.

“Are you leaving Squirrel?” She asked, though the question was moot, she wanted him to admit it. Betrayal was burning strong in her chest.

“He’s safe enough.”

“That wasn’t the question, Monk.”

He turned his head to fiddle with Goliath’s saddle. “Considering I do not have your trust, what does it matter whether I leave or not?”

“I trust that you love him,” Nimue said. There was plenty of evidence of that at least. “You’ll break his heart,” she told him.

“He’ll be fine.”

“At least say goodbye, you coward.”

He turned to look at her at that, but he wasn’t angry. He nodded at her. “I’ve tried. He brooks no argument and I can not remain here any longer. ”

“Why now?”

The question struck her as silly. Most everyone gave him a wide berth regardless of how many months he’d been with them and with good reason. Arthur and the Redspear valued his fighting prowess, but the only ones who seemed fond of him were Squirrel and Gawain. Nimue had even caught Pym grace the Monk with one of her sweet smiles. As for Nimue, when the violent rage to murder him passed, the distrust remained, for his motives and his church, and yet as she learned more and more from Gawain and Squirrel her resolve to forever hate him diminished.

Who was to blame? Father Carden, the church, the Fey that failed to protect him, the man himself who had only been a boy? It was not so simple as that and Nimue had spent many nights dwelling over having the Monk on her campground. Most everyone understood that he had been a victim the same as they had been, but total forgiveness was a different matter altogether. And yet, his decision to leave would alleviate that particular headache but it left her feeling unsatisfied.

“I don’t belong here.”

Indeed, he did not belong. Not with his fasting and prayers, and denial of anything that could bring him joy or pleasure. They fey and their way of life was the antithesis of the way he had been brought up. She knew it caused him great pain.

“You’re not hurting yourself again, are you?” The question, as did the concern, came unbidden. It spoke of how appalling she found the practice of flogging oneself for partaking in “sinful” behavior or even thought.

“No,” came the clipped answer.

He mounted his horse but Nimue held the reins before he vanished from her life forever. “Lancelot,” she said, the first time she’d uttered his name, “You are welcome here,” she told him. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how accustomed she had grown to his presence and that she did in fact trust him.

He nodded down at her, his face pale against his markings. “Thank you, Milady,” he told her, gently taking the reins from him and galloping away.

***

Autumn

The air was chilly, and the days grew shorter, though it seemed that Nimue’s days never ended. The red paladins were kept at bay, for now, but they were always a looming threat, now the most pressing need was food and permanent shelter from the coming winter. The alliance with the raiders was a good one, and they were not in dire straits, but it was a harsh world for her people. She intended to make it better.

Squirrel’s laughter broke through thoughts of politics and magic, and she stopped to watch him practice sword fighting with Gawain, aware that she would be late to meet with Arthur and Merlin but not wanting to miss Squirrel’s joy.

Gawain feinted, and then smacked the young boy on the behind, laughing as he did so. “Sir Percival, how many times have I cautioned restraint?”

Squirrel threw his sword on the ground in frustration. “Nine hells!”

“Language, boy.” A stern voice called out.

“Lancelot!” Squirrel screamed and ran toward the figure cloaked in grey, launching himself at the man's waist, almost topping him over in his exuberance.

Nevermind that her heart was thumping wildly in her own chest, that the sight of him had bubbled up something that was very much like Squirrel was displaying. She laughed at the awkward way he handled the boy’s affection and the never ending questions. It was worsened when Gawain gladly greeted him, offering a friendly handshake. He seemed to be in need of saving, his eyes looked around for an escape, and they found hers.

“Milady,” he said. “We must speak.”

Squirrel gave a groan of objection. “Come and find me after,” he asked. “Promise!” He demanded when Lancelot didn't answer.

After a long suffering sigh, he relented. “Promise.”

Again, Nimue wanted to laugh. It had always been entertaining to watch the two of them. She felt a sort of jitters that left her somewhat surprised. He’d been gone a good while, and his absence had been felt by her acutely. Not only had they lost an amazing fighter, but his insights on the red paladins had been of the most importance in their fight, and yet, it was watching him with Squirrel and Gawain that intrigued her the most.

“Gawain,” he said when the other man started to leave. “Stay, you’ll want to hear this too.”

“I found people,” he started with no preamble. “Fey Folk. Deep in the woods. They need help. They’re skittish and near to starving.”

Gawain and Nimue looked at each other. More people meant more mouths to feed, more bodies to protect and in spite of it all, Nimue knew that they would take them in. They would take as many as were left.

“You did good, Lancelot.” Gawain said, slapping the other man on the back. “I’ll organize a search party at once. “

“Thank you,” Nimue said after Gawain had gone.

“I wasn’t sure that-”

“All Fey are brethren and we’ll manage. We always have.” She told him. “We’ll manage better with you.” She finished.

He inclined his head before turning to regroup with Gawain.

Nimue watched him go, the sight of his tall form striding through the camp a comforting sight.

***

Nimue hid her smile for the hundredth time that evening, as she watched Squirrel talk Lancelot’s ear off. They sat by the fire, the older man polishing his swords, as the young boy followed his lead and example. It should have been a solitary and quiet task, but the Squirrel hadn’t wanted to leave him for even a moment. To his credit, Lancelot remained patient with the boy, and answered when given a chance to do so.

Sighing, she excused herself from the group of people she had been supping with when she noticed Lancelot had refused the food that Squirrel had offered for the second time. He’d had nothing but bread and water since he had arrived. It reminded her terribly of when he’d first arrived, the self-punishment and deprivation he inflicted on himself had been hard to stomach.

Squirrel smiled at her but didn’t break his conversation, and Lancelot gave her a curt nod as she joined them. His hands were sure on the sword, his long fingers dextrous as he worked the oil cloth over the blade. It made her feel warm, so she looked instead to Squirrel, who was still talking excitedly.

“Try some peaches,” she offered gamely over Squirrel’s voice.

He shook his head. “No, thank you, Milady,” he said.

“Have some,” she said again, and pushed the peach toward his face. She held the fruit to his lips until he took a reluctant bite. He licked the juice from his lips, and she knew that he’d enjoyed the sweet ripe flavor. She could have almost sworn he had moaned slightly.

Satisfied, she smiled and took a bite from the peach, her teeth grazing place where he’d bitten it and then offered it to him again.

But he stood up abruptly, packing his blades and cleaning tools and left.

“You’ve gone and done it, now,” Squirrel accused.

Nimue looked at the retreating Lancelot and wondered what had possessed her. She gave a sheepish look to Squirrel. “Sorry,” she said.

“Fix it then! Get ‘em back.”

She stood and went after the Monk at Squirrel’s prodding, not that she needed much prodding. He stood by his horse, and her heart stuttered thinking she’d scared him away so much as to have him leave them again. But he was only petting the beast.

Nimue could tell he was aware of her approach by the sudden tense of his back. She bit her lips, wanting to apologize for making him feel uncomfortable but not really wanting to at all, because it was only a bloody peach. She pushed her hair back, indecisive about how to go about making him feel better.

It was he who spoke, ”It was better when you wanted to murder me.”

She scoffed at that and went to scratch the horse’s head, very near where his own hand was resting on Goliath’s nose. “I’m sorry, Lancelot. You weren’t eating and I just thought that….” She frowned and looked up at him. “There’s so very little joy to go around sometimes, I guess I don’t see the point of denying ourselves what little there is to have.”

He backed away from her. “I was taught the opposite.”

“You were taught wrong.”

He didn’t deny it. He looked toward the floor, avoiding her eyes.

Nimue offered her hand to him. “If you don’t return with me, Squirrel will be angry with me. I promise not to offer you any more peaches, or anything else for that matter.”

He took her hand, and the spark that lit between them was a living ember that she had always known would be there. Expectedly, he pulled away, but started walking back to camp. They walked side by side, Nimue longing for that touch again, for the feeling of his warm hand in hers.

“It was easier when I wanted to murder you, not better,” she told him.

If it had ended at that it would have been simpler, less messy, she wouldn’t have a brooding broken man in her camp, a man so desperate for connection it was palpable. Whatever qualms she’d had about him had disappeared with his absence. Here was a man that had been broken by the Church, and somehow still managed to crawl out from his hell to help Squirrel, to help them.

“I can not fathom what your struggles might be, but I do hope one day you’ll be able to take the peach I offer.”

The meaning of her words were not lost on him as his eyes widened slightly and his lips parted in surprise. He also stopped dead on his tracks. Nimue bit her lip to keep from smiling and took his hand leading him back to Squirrel.

They sat around the fire, Squirrel looking suspiciously at them, noting the tension between them. “Nimue, stop looking at him as if he’s one of Mabel’s apple tarts. He doesn't like it.”

“Squirrel!” she chastised, mortified, but she laughed until her sides hurt.

*  
“Must you leave?”

It was twilight, the air was cold and she could sense the first snow coming. They stood outside her tent, once again, Nimue looking up at him accusingly, feeling betrayed and hurt.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He had stayed only long enough to show Gawain where the refugee Fey were hiding, long enough to take Gawain’s place until his return, long enough to teach the Squirrel some fighting techniques, long enough for Nimue to stop fearing waking up every day to find him gone.

She’d known that morning he meant to leave, had awoken with the same ill feeling she’d gotten the first time he’d left them, the hidden an annoying buzzing in her ears. She knew what that feeling was now, knew the stillness in the air and the unease in her soul could only mean his departure.

At least he had the decency to try to say goodbye this time.

“You belong here,” she told him, grabbing his hand to try to make him see. “You do. We’re your people. We need you here, you’re invaluable to the cause…’ then she stopped. “I need you here. I want you here. I want to see you navigate our customs and fumble with Gawain’s trust and Squirrel’s affection. I want to see your face when first try something that you think is decadent and-”

“Nimue-” he started, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what I am without the church. I cannot yet reconcile who I was with where I am or what I am doing. It is not as easy as succumbing to the pleasure of a good meal, though I wish it were. I’m stifled in kindness and laughter and… and many other temptations I wish to partake in.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“The church is all I’ve ever known.”

Damn his church, she thought angrily. It had taken everything from him, nearly all from her and her people.

“I will be back,” he told her solemnly. “I promised Squirrel. Gawain as well, and now I promise you.”

She nodded solemnly, but if he was set to depart he would have to suffer her embrace. She went on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him close. Nimue held him a while and she could not help herself, so she rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his jaw. She could feel his deep inhalation, it was almost as if he didn’t want to leave, she thought, gazing up at his stern features and those distinctive markings that made her want to reach up and wipe his tears away.

“I'm sorry,” he said, head cast down. “I'm unused to such displays of affection.”

“Which is what makes us all want to embrace you all the more,” she told him, smiling slightly.

He straightened to his full height, stealing himself to leave. Her eyes were drawn to his ips when he licked them before speaking. He stopped whatever he was to say, looked down at her with a mixture of longing and despair. “You do look at me as if I were an apple tart,” he told her, and his words were such a mismatch with his melancholy tone that it made her laugh.

Nimue covered her heated face with her hands, laughter bubbling up like it had before, mixing with sadness and disappointment at saying goodbye to him once again.. “Be gone then, before I decide to gobble you all up.”

Winter

Camp was moved to the ruined castle that Merlin had taken her on their first meeting. The permanent structures had been reinforced as best they could and so far the castle had served them well during the heavy snows of the season. Festa and Moreii didn’t seem to mind the company.

She’d been sharing a meal with Pym and Aurthur, drinking mulled wine, when they heard the first of excitement coming from outside her quarters. Her heart gave a heavy thud, feeling the excited whispering of the hidden all around her. She hurried outside, her feet flying towards the gates. It had to be Lancelot.

Snow was falling slowly as a caravan of people made their way inside. Goliath was carrying three children, with Lancelot leading the small group. Some were on foot, others in wagons, and all were Fey. They look tired but well fed and taken care of.

She locked eyes with Lancelot and her heart gave a painful lurch at the sight of him. She smiled at him and he nodded in his solemn way before helping the children down from his horse. Squirrel was instantly at his side, peppering him with questions.

“Milady,” he said to her once she joined them.

She smiled at the children that remained close to Lancelot. She kneeled down to their eye level. “It seems you’ve had a long journey.”

“Yes Ma'am,” one of them piped up.

“Well, you are home now,” she told them. “Squirrel, would please show them about?”

“How did you do all this?” She asked in awe, turning to Lancelot. There were some twenty people he had brought with him, all relatively well taken care of.

“I had help,” he answered. “A convent. The abbess there is a sympathizer. She’s hidden them all this time.”

“The church,” she repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.”

She looked at the Fey, and grew wary of them. “Lancelot-”

“These people chose to come because I assured them you would grant them sanctuary, that we would protect them from those that would do them harm,” he said, noting her sudden reluctance. “They’re Fey.”

Nimue swallowed hard, looking at the expectant Fey faces. Not one could pass as human, which made it even more extraordinary that any human would risk their lives to help them. She braved a smile and welcomed them home, much as she had done with the children.

***

It took some time to make arrangements for the new arrivals, by the time they were seen to it was late evening. By the time they gathered for supper, the news that their new members had been sheltered by the church had spread through their camp. Arthur and Gawain, for once agreeing on something, wanted nothing to do with the Church. The red Spear saw the benefit of having such an alliance. Nimue did not know what to think.

The church was leading the charge of the elimination of her people, she wanted nothing to do with them. And yet, some had aided her people, for months, had managed to hide them, feed them and smuggle them out.

“Tell me about this church,” she asked Lancelot once she found him in one dark corner of their makeshift great hall.

“They’re different,” he said softly. “It’s the opposite of what Father Carden and his Paladins stand for. It’s not just Fey they hide, but also non-Christians. They mean to help. Let them.”

Nimue rubbed her face tiredly. She knew they needed to unite with the humans if they meant survive, but anything having to do with the Church made her recoil. Not an easy thing Lancelot was asking, it was the church who’d pushed them to the very edge of extinction.

“They helped you, too?” she asked, sensing a change in him. Something had shifted in his demeanor. He looked a bit more settled, and though she resented the fact that he had found it in a bloody church and not with his people, she was glad his burden had lessened.

“Yes,” he nodded. “The abbess there preaches love and forgiveness. It was not easy to gain her trust as my reputation preceded but once I had it….’’ He looked down at his feet. “I found a semblance of peace.”

“I’m glad for that, truly.”

He looked up from his feet to gaze at her. “I meant to come back sooner. It was no easy feat to get the sisters and then the Fey to trust the weeping monk. Though, I have to admit that I’ve had a lot of time to think about what it would be like to be gobbled up.”

His words caught her by surprise, so much so that she could only blink up at him. There was something in his impassive face that told her he was a bit pleased with himself at having left her speechless. And that was it, it was decided. If those humans were able to give him back part of his soul, part of his joy, then they had her never-ending gratitude and support.

***

The next few days brought a calm sort of joy that not even the cold weather could dampen. The mood at the camp was easy and light, and the supplies that the convent had sent had been a welcome change from their usual simple meals.

She was sitting with Pym, Gawain and Squirrel, as was customary, and waiting for Lancelot to join them as had been the case for the last few nights.

When he finally arrived, her breath caught in her chest, and she felt like she was melting like snow in the warm sun. He carried a young girl with a tear stained face, who had her hands tightly wound around the man’s neck.

“Pym,” he said, “I fear we are in need of your skills.” He said seriously, dropping the girl down to showcase the skinned knees.

It took a moment for the wide eyed Pym to close her mouth and nod down at the injury. “Yes, yes, I see,” she said, catching on.

“Pym is a skilled healer,” Lancelot told the girl, who did not want to let go of him.

“What happened here?” Pym asked, trying to cajole the girl.

“They pushed me!” The girl cried.

Pym nodded empathically. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The girl held her arms out for Pym and after a few soothing words, some warm tea, and a light cleaning of her knees, the girl’s tears subsided and she gave them all a toothy grin.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him since he had walked in with the girl, she couldn’t. Nimue wanted nothing more than to grip his shirt and smash her mouth to his. He must have felt her gaze, because he turned his attention from the girl to her, and the pull low in her belly became so intense she thought she might drag him up to her quarters and finally have her way with him.

“Apple tart,” Nimue heard Pym whisper and yet she couldn't drag her eyes away from him, much less dampen all the swirling emotions and want she felt for him. It was hard to keep all that inside of her when she knew he wasn’t ready that he would perhaps never be ready to share himself in that way.

He blinked at her, swallowed hard and said, “I shall be leaving soon.”

***

She waited by the apple tree, covered in furs and shaking and breathing in the chilled air of the twilight hour. Goodbyes had been exchanged the night before, but Nimue had been unable to sleep, wanting to see him off as she had done the previous times.

NImue had a speech planned, something about wishing him a good and safe journey, but instead, as soon as she saw him she threw herself at him in much the same way Squirrel enjoyed doing.

His hands, usually hanging loose at his sides, came around her in a gentle hold. Then surprisingly, they tightened around her, and he too, buried his face in the crook of her neck. She sighed into him, and his hold became tighter still. Like she’d done the last time she’d said goodbye, she rubbed her cheek against his jaw and then, because she just couldn’t help herself, smoothed her lips over his.

The kiss was soft and sweet, with just a tint of sadness.

Nimue wanted to tell him to stay, to be with them, instead she kissed him again, harder this time. He kissed her back, embraced her and then touched his forehead against hers.

“What is it that you think you’ll find out there that you can’t find here, with us?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied letting her go.

“You don’t want to leave. I can see it. So stay.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

***  
Spring

The temperature had started to warm, the snow was mush beneath their feet as Nimue and Arthur practiced on her sword skills. One thing was wielding Devil's Tooth, another a plain sword, Nimue thought as she blocked one of Arthur’s blows.

She felt a whisper, the air stilled and Squirrel's raucous encouragement died down.

“Focus,” Arthur admonished.

But she had locked eyes with Squirrel, a smile blooming between the two of them. Squirrel broke off running, and Nimue followed at a more dignified pace, leaving a puzzled Arthur behind.

Gawain was already clapping Lancelot on the back, and squirrel soon joined them. She could see Lancelot bracing himself for Squirrel, and she laughed out loud, cherishing the sight.

“Ahh,” Arthur said in understanding.

“So this is what all the commotion is about,” Pym said, walking up to them, to watch the welcome party that had assembled around Lancelot. “What are you waiting for?” She asked and pushed her forward.

“Pym!”

The red haired woman rolled her eyes and pushed her again. “You know you want to.”

Nimue moved, nerves making her heartbeat a fast drum. She was unsure exactly how to go about it, the last time she’d seen him she’d hung all over him even worse than Squirrel. But they had been alone and it had been dark. It had been almost like a secret. Now, in bright daylight, she didn’t know if he would take her embraces, much less how she would feel if he denied her.

Still, she walked closer and when met his eyes with hers, she found herself almost gliding into his arms. He held her in a gentle one armed hold, the other arm around Squirrel’s small shoulders.

***

“So, where’d you go?” Squirrel asked at suppertime when it was just the three of them sitting comfortably on the floor on Lancelot’s newly assigned quarters. I

Squirrel and Nimue had already gotten him caught up on all the going ons of the camp, from their running-ins with the red paladins, to the alliance with King Uther, and Merlin’s schemes. For the most part he had been mostly quiet, only interjecting with a question or two.  
Curious, Nimue waited for him to answer Squirrel, who had asked the question that she had been dying to ask since he had arrived.

He leaned back against the wall, took a sip of his water, while Squirrel grew more and more impatient. “You didn’t bring any more Fey? Were you looking for them? What happened?”

“I found no more Fey,” he told them. “I went home- to the Village I was taken from. I didn’t quite remember it, nor how to get there, but I found it. “

Nimue hadn’t expected such a reply, and on instinct she reached over to take his hand and squeeze it softly.

“Is there anything left?” Squirrel asked.

“No.”

“That’s alright- you have a new home with us. “ Squirrel proclaimed. “Right?” He insisted, looking expectantly at Lancelot for agreement. “Right?”

Lancelot stared at the boy, then he smiled slightly at him. “Right.”

Satisfied, Squirrel dug into his food once again.

Nimue smiled at the both of them, and moved over to sit beside Lancelot against the castle wall. “I’m glad you are back,” she told him before grabbing his arm and maneuvering around her shoulders, tucking herself against his side. He didn’t object, and she sank deeper against his tall form.

“I don’t remember my life before the church. I don’t remember my parent’s faces, or the house we lived in. I went back home but I felt nothing- I thought perhaps I would feel a sense of recognition, but I can’t even remember enough to feel a sense of loss.”

Her heart ached for him, at all the things that had been taken from him.

“I don’t seem to fit anywhere, do I? Not completely Fey, nor human. Not Christian or Pagan.”

“You fit perfectly,” Nimue told him, laying her head on his chest.

She felt a kiss on the top of her head. “It does appear so.”

“Yuck!” Squirrel announced, annoyed at their exchange.

***  
Unfortunately for Squirrel those exchanges become more and more frequent, and though he complained bitterly everytime he was subjected to them, he soon grew accustomed to the new dynamic, though he did complain on principle.

A part of her was surprised at how readily he allowed touch, considering what he used to be like before. But now it was obvious that not only did he enjoy it, but he yearned for it as well. The other part knew the deprivation he had suffered at the hands of the Church, and understood how much he needed to feel loved.

So she embraced, hugged, kissed and held his hands as much as she could morning, noon and night. And it was no hard task, she thought, as she ran her hand through his hair, and traced his lips with her fingers, loving the way he gazed up at her, how at how easily he accepted her caresses.

“That’s sickening, really!” Squirrel’s voice boomed all the way from his place at the edge of the lake.

Nimue chuckled, ”You’re scaring off the fish, Percival. Keep it up and you’ll leave us with no supper.”

“If the two of you would stop making eyes at each other and help me, that would be greatly appreciated!”

She looked down at Lancelot who had his head on her lap and had been leaning into her touch quite nicely before Squirrel’s overly dramatic show of disgust.

She bent down and kissed his nose, his cheeks, his eyes and finally his lips.

“By the gods,” they heard Squirrel say, and Nimue laughed heartily, enjoying the bright spring day.

***

**Author's Note:**

> The Weeping Monk had me falling hard !
> 
> I wish I had the skill for a full redemption arc... but sadly I do not. I also do enjoy fluff and instant gratification... hence the one-shot/drabble with hardly any plot. I hope it was enjoyable. :)


End file.
